But for the sound of that sob as she passed me I should not have watched
her--I should not have known what afterward I would have given my life
not to know.

She walked right on to the very head of the pier, and stood there for a
few minutes. I knew, by instinct, that she was crying bitterly; then I
was struck by the manner in which she looked round; it was evident to me
that she wished to be quite alone. At times the waves playing round the
wooden pillars made some unusual sound; she turned quickly, as though
she suspected some one was near her. Once a gentleman strolled leisurely
down the pier, stood for a few minutes watching the sea in silence, then
went away; while he was there she stood still and motionless as a
statue; then she looked round with a stealthy gaze--a gaze so unlike the
free, grand grace of her movements that I was struck by it. She could
not see me because I was in the deep shadow, but I could see every
gesture of hers. I saw her raise her face to the darkling skies, and I
felt that some despairing prayer was on her lip, and the reason why I
could see her so plainly was this, that she stood just where the rays of
the lamps fell brightly.

It was a dramatic scene: the dark, heaving sea, with the fitful gleam of
the moonlight; the silent pier, with the one huge light; the tall, dark
figure standing there so motionless. Why did she look round with that
hurried stealthy glance, as though so desirous of being alone? Presently
she seemed to realize that she stood where the light fell brightest, and
she turned away. She walked to the side of the pier farthest from me,
where she stood opposite to the bright lights of the western pier. She
did not remain there long, but crossed again, and this time she chose
that part of the pier where I was sitting.